Night Child
by ReluctantSlashFan
Summary: Swindled into going to a club by Lydia, Stiles ends up getting something slipped into his drink. Thinking it's drugs, he realizes it has something more supernatural about it. Now it's up to Derek and the pack to save him before he kills anyone.
1. Chapter 1

Techno music blared from the speakers overhead, reverberating in Stiles' ears, causing his entire body to feel like it was vibrating. People danced and grinded around him, bumping into him, and he barely suppressed a growl as he maneuvered around the crowd, feeling very much like Derek in that moment.

He hadn't wanted to go to the grand opening of the new, all ages club, but Lydia had insisted he go. '_Everyone is going to be there, Stiles,_' she had said at school, while they were walking to calculus. '_I'll even save you a dance.'_ He had agreed to go after those words. Damn him and his stupid crush.

He was jostled again, stumbling over his feet. He knocked into a pretty blonde, almost knocking her to the floor. Instinctually, he reached out and grabbed her bare shoulders, barely recognizing her ice, cold skin, keeping her from falling over. Stiles muttered an apology, let her go, and then continued his trek through the wriggling, sweaty bodies scattered across the dance floor.

He found his friends sitting at a back table. Lydia and Jackson were sitting close together, whispering to each other. She giggled at something he said, and Stiles forced himself to look away. Next to them sat Scott and Allison, the latter sitting in the former's lap, laughing at something Isaac had just said. At the far end of the booth sat Boyd and Erica, so wrapped up in each other that Stiles had no idea where she began and he ended. The only one missing was Derek, and Stiles highly doubted Mr. Anti-Social Sour Alpha was going to show up here tonight.

"Hey guys," Stiles greeted sitting down next to Isaac.

"Hi," Allison and Scott said together. Isaac waved, Jackson nodded, and Lydia sniffed, "You're late."

"Jeep wouldn't start," Stiles lied resting his hands on the table. In all honesty, he had a very Cameron Frye approach to tonight. He sat in his jeep for ten minutes, debating whether or not to go, before getting out. He then walked six steps towards his house, turned around, and went back to his jeep. He then debated another ten minutes, got out, scowled in a very Derek-like way, and then got back in the jeep, started it, and drove here. But it was better just to tell everyone his vehicle wouldn't start; it made him sound less crazy.

"What's wrong with it?" Allison asked curiously.

Stiles shrugged noncommittally before turning his attention to Isaac and he asking, "So, what's Derek doing tonight?"

"Arguing with the contractor," Isaac replied with a small smile. Stiles grinned back remembering the guy Lydia insisted Derek hire. The man had too many ideas for the Hale house, ideas Derek did not want to hear, but wouldn't take no for an answer. They had had a total of sixteen arguments, twelve that resulted in Derek storming out of the house only to return after a few hours. Stiles had asked him why he hadn't just fired the man, but Derek had begrudgingly admitted that he knew what he was doing, and that he wasn't going to fire someone who knew a lot more about rebuilding a house than he did.

"What does he want to do this time?" Stiles asked curiously.

"He wants to take out the bay windows in the library and replace them with French doors," Erica explained ungluing her lips from Boyd's. "Derek won't let him."

"That's because Laura liked to sit there and read," Stiles said without thinking and looked down at the table when the others gave him questioning looks. "He mentioned it once," he muttered fiddling with a hangnail on his left thumb.

The table was quiet for a moment, but finally Lydia said, "Oh my God, Jackson. I love this song." She grabbed the blue eyed wolf's hand, practically crawled over Boyd and Erica, who had started making out again, and rushed towards the dance floor with Jackson grumbling, "You're going to pull my arm out of socket."

"It'll heal," she snapped as they disappeared into the crowd. Allison and Scott got up to join them, leaving Isaac and Stiles sitting together, trying very hard not to look over at the kissing couple.

"So, how's things?" Stiles asked absentmindedly, his eyes seeking out Lydia.

"Fine," Isaac replied resting his arms on the table.

"That's great." Unconsciously, he began nodding his head to the music, some song that came out ten years ago. "I'm surprised Derek let you guys come here tonight. I mean, we've spent the past three weeks fighting Alphas, getting them out of town. I thought he'd make you guys hibernate or something."

"We're not bears, Stiles," Isaac stated sounding amused. "Besides, he practically pushed us out the door tonight. He said we were giving him a headache and acting childish and some other stuff."

"Yeah, well anything remotely fun would give him a headache," Erica commented drily, again ungluing her lips from Boyd's. "He wouldn't know fun if it bit him in the ass."

"Yeah," Stiles responded half listening to the conversation, his eyes finally settling on Lydia and Jackson. They were dancing way too close, his mouth all over hers, and Stiles made a face before getting to his feet, startling the werewolves. "Who wants a drink? I want a drink. Can I get you a drink?" They shook their heads. "Alrighty then. I'll be right back."

He moved away from the table, maneuvering through the crowd again, making a point to avoid Lydia and Jackson. He was being pathetic, he knew this, God he knew this, but a part of him couldn't help it. He knew he should have been used to them being together, it had almost been a year since Jackson's 'death.' Since Lydia brought him back with her love or whatever. They had fought Alphas together; he had seen them together almost every single day. He _should_ have been used to them. Stiles needed to move on; he and Lydia were just _not_ meant to be together.

With a frustrated sigh, he stopped next to the bar. There were a couple of twenty-somethings bartending, serving the honest under aged kids soda and juice and the liars and twenty-one and over people whatever they wanted. Stiles wondered how many kids had fake ids, secretly wishing he had one, but ended up ordering a coke when the bartender asked what he wanted.

"Thanks," he said to the guy, taking the proffered coke, and snaked his way through the crowd again. He took a sip of the coke on the way, trying to avoid looking Lydia and Jackson's way again. He heard someone call his name, his eyes looking around, settling on Danny and some dude dancing a few feet away. Danny waved, Stiles waved back, and he continued on his way back towards his table.

As he sat down, very much aware of the empty table now, he took another sip, making a face. It tasted differently from before, almost metallic, and he suddenly didn't want it. He put the coke down, pushing it away from him. He really hoped someone didn't put something in it. Though, with his luck, they did and now he was going to be riding the E-train or something. He'd just have to make sure the lights didn't start attacking him or anything. Or maybe he was just being paranoid and it was actually bad ice or something.

_Yeah, it's just bad ice_, he told himself, but he still wouldn't touch the coke. He leaned back into the booth, seeking out his friends, noticing Boyd and Erica grinding against each other on the dance floor. Isaac was talking to a red-head that Stiles recognized from their history class, standing a few paces away from his socially inappropriate brethren. Scott and Allison were laughing as the former tried to dance. And Lydia and Jackson were trying to do a pretty damn good impression of Boyd and Erica.

Stiles leaned forward, letting his elbows rest on the table, wishing he had stayed home. At least at home he wouldn't be potentially drugged, watching the girl he loved jam her tongue down some other dude's throat. He could be playing video games, trying to get to level fifty on Halo. He hadn't had much video game time since the Alphas attacked, but since they were gone now, since they could breathe easier, Stiles had time now. He really should just go home.

He stood up, sent a quick text to Scott saying he was going home, and moved through the crowd for the fourth time that night. He managed to get to the door with minimum jostling and burst outside. As he headed towards his jeep, he was suddenly very much aware of someone watching him. At first, he actually thought it was Derek, the creeper up to his stalker-ish ways again, but there was something off about this feeling. Something Stiles couldn't put his finger on.

He sped up, digging his keys out of his pocket. He fumbled with them, found the correct one, and shoved it in the lock the moment he reached his jeep. He unlocked the door, yanked the keys out, and jumped into his vehicle. He slammed the door, locking it. Breathing heavily, he leaned his head against the steering wheel, willing his heart to stop pounding in his chest, waiting for the feeling to go away.

The feeling, however, didn't go away, it seemed to get stronger, and Stiles knew he had to get the hell out of there like yesterday. He drew in a deep breath, shakily let it out, and picked up his head. He put his keys in the ignition, trying to ignore his trembling fingers, and started the jeep.

He drove home, keeping his eyes on the rear view mirror the entire drive, going twenty over the speed limit. He made it home safely, jumped out of his jeep, took a second to lock the door, and sprinted inside. He locked the door behind him, fought the urge to shove a chair under the knob, and ran all the way upstairs.

Stiles almost hid under his bed, but he knew that'd be pretty damn childish, so he opted to just hide under his blanket. A part of him was convinced if whatever was out there couldn't see him then they would leave him alone. It was childish, stupid, but his fear had taken his brain hostage.

It took a while for the adrenaline to wear off, for him to finally breathe easier, for logic reappear. He slowly let his blanket fall off his head, very much aware of being alone. He recalled the nasty tasting coke, and he wondered if that had been a side-effect of his _potential _drugging. He made a mental note to never go clubbing again._ Bad ice my ass_.

He lied down, burrowing into his blankets, closing his eyes, suddenly tired. Adrenaline sucked, especially when it sapped all the energy from someone's body. Stiles felt himself sinking into sleep, his breathing evening out.

Stiles had hardly been asleep a few hours when he awoke to a sharp pain in his stomach. He tasted bile in his throat, and he scrambled out of bed, barely making it to the bathroom. He landed hard on the floor, pain shooting through his knees, and vomited in the toilet. His stomach cramped again and he threw up a second time. He was never, ever going to a club again.

He dry heaved for a few moments, but finally he collapsed against the bathtub, totally spent, shaking crazily, his ragged breathing filling the room, listening to his heart pound against his chest. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, willing himself to get up, off the floor.

It took a few moments, but he was finally able to stand on trembling legs. He flushed the toilet, moving towards the sink. Blindly, he reached out, seeking out the light switch. His fingers found it and he flipped it up, very nearly blinding himself with the bright lights.

"Gah," he exclaimed flipping the light off again. That was bad idea.

He stumbled out of the bathroom, moving towards his bedroom. He slowly sat down, willingly himself to calm down, leaning forward, letting his forehead rest against his knees. As his body began to settle and his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, he was very much aware of the sound of a car door slamming. His father must have been home.

Slowly, Stiles stood up and moved towards the window. He glanced down, but didn't see his father's car; must have been a neighbor or something. He walked towards his bed again, slowly sinking down onto the mattress. He lied down on his side, crossing his arms over his stomach, closing his eyes.

He tried to sleep, but another car door slammed and he heard two people arguing. He then heard a dog bark, but he was fairly certain there were no dogs on his block. Maybe one of his neighbors bought a dog or something. Great, just what he needed, more dogs in his life. He sat up, intending to close his window, but then he remembered he hadn't opened it. Was someone…?

He scrambled out of bed, adrenaline pumping through his veins again, looking for a bat, but froze when he realized the window was closed and locked. Raising his eyebrows, he cautiously moved towards the window again. He looked down, but didn't see any arguing couple, no car, no dog. There wasn't anything down there to explain what he had heard.

A car door slammed, this one much closer, and Stiles heard keys in the lock before the front door open. He was very much aware of every footstep his father took, every breath he made, as he moved towards the kitchen. He heard the older man pour himself a drink, the smell of alcohol stinging Stiles' nose. He could practically taste the jack on his tongue, but he wasn't paying attention to any of that. He was more preoccupied with every single beat of his father's heart, of the blood he could hear pumping through his veins.

Stiles stumbled back, his knees hitting his bed. He fell onto the mattress, his eyes widening. Maybe it wasn't drugs that had been put in his drink. Maybe it was more… _supernatural._

He fumbled in his pockets, snatching his cell phone from his left, hip pocket. He was very much aware of the sixteen or so text messages he had gotten from his friends, but he ignored those for now. He had to call Derek, see what the hell was going on, ask him if there was a possibility he could be…

His fingers fumbled over the buttons, his ears still tracking his father's movements, and he managed to hit send on Derek's number. The phone rang once before Derek answered, sounding very worried. "Stiles?"

"Ah," Stiles hissed, the older guy's voice hammering against his ears.

"Stiles?"

"Stop screaming," he whispered clenching his eyes shut.

"I'm not…" Derek trailed off, and very quietly said, "I'm coming over right now, okay?"

"My dad…"

"Unlock the window," Derek said and hung up. Stiles dropped his phone, forcing himself to stand up, and moved towards the window. He unlocked it; backing up until his back rested against the wall, he slowly sank to the ground. This wasn't happening. This could not be happening.

**TW**

Worry pulsed through Derek's veins as he sped down the road. Something had to be wrong with Stiles. He never called this late, nor would he have willingly called Derek at all. They were friendlier towards each other, and Derek even trusted Stiles more than the others, but they were far from friends. Stiles was still irritating as hell, and sometimes Derek thought about putting his head through a wall, but he'd never do it. Besides Stiles was pack, and if there was something wrong with him Derek needed to know.

He parked his car a few blocks away, made sure it was locked, and ran the rest of the way to Stiles' place, tapping into his wolf speed. He sprinted across Stiles' yard, leapt up to grab the edge of the house, swung himself up, onto the roof, and wrenched the window open.

The first thing he noticed was the difference in smell. Stiles usually gave off a pleasant, sunshine scent, usually masked by an array of emotions and Adderall. Now, even though the usual emotions and Adderall still lingered, his room lacked the sunshine scent. In fact, it sort of smelled like death. But Stiles was not dead, Derek could hear his heart beat fluttering somewhere in the room.

"Stiles," Derek whispered looking around for the kid, finding him huddled against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, shaking. Slowly the werewolf crossed the room, concern pumping through his veins and making his heart pound against his chest. "Stiles," he repeated, crouching down next to him, resting his hand on Stiles' shoulder.

In a flash, Stiles moved, knocking Derek backwards. The werewolf's head met the floor with an audible thud, his ears ringing. His vision swam and he felt Stiles land on his chest, his usual brown eyes shining purple. The kid flashed his teeth, two rows of sharp fangs, before he bent forward and sank them into Derek's neck.

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**I know, I know vampires aren't nearly as cool as werewolves, but I couldn't help writing this. I'm borrowing several different vampires from several different shows (i.e. Supernatural, Buffy, Moonlight, Being Human...) but I promise they will not sparkle, they will not be damn near impossible to kill, and Stiles may or may not be cured... you'll have to wait until the ending.**

**So, thanks for reading, I do not own these characters, and leave me a comment if you can.**

**Bye!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, let me explain a couple things before you read. A) Italics are Stiles under the influence of bloodlust. B) Stiles gets a little creepy in here. And C) There's a tiny bit of Erica POV, so let me know if she's remotely close to IC (my main focus, thus far, has been Derek and Stiles, so I haven't exactly tried writing in anyone else's POV).**_  
_

**Anyway, thanks for reading, reviewing, alerting, and favoriting last chapter. You guys rock!**

**So, thanks for reading, leave me a comment if you can, and I still don't own 'em.**

**Bye!**

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_The blood was tainted, wrong. He wrenched his mouth off the dog's neck, snarling at it. How dare it come into his room, how dare it try to kill him with its poisonous blood. He snarled again, watching as the dog's eyes slid closed, his heart slowing down to a gentle beat against his chest. It wouldn't die from the bite, but it would be out for a while._

_ Maybe he should kill it. The dog's kind was nothing but trouble, he could feel it, but what would be the fun in killing it? He could just torture it, bleed it dry. Too bad the dog's blood wasn't meant to be drunk; he'd have so much fun with it. Oh well, death had to be better than anything right?_

_ He flashed his teeth, pouncing on the dog, intending to rip its throat out, but he was wrenched off it a second later. He skidded across the room, slamming into his desk. He bounded to his feet, eyes zeroing in on another dog, this one a bitch._

"Stiles,_" the bitch said raising its hands, its eyes flashing yellow. "_Stiles, it's Erica."

_Erica, what a stupid common…_ _Wait, he knew that name. He knew her. Erica; the Catwoman to his Batman, the girl who had had a crush on him since forever… according to her. She was dating Boyd, part of Derek's pack... _

Oh God, Derek_._

Stiles blinked, the red clearing from his vision, and he was across the room in a second. Erica reeled back from him, taking Derek with her, her brown eyes wide. "What?" he said cautiously. "What's…?"

"You did this," Erica stated softly, gesturing to Derek.

"No, I…" And it came back. The sudden bloodlust washing over him, feeling Derek's hand on his shoulder, hearing his blood pumping, his heart beating, and Stiles had just attacked. He had attacked Derek. He had _attacked_ Derek_, _had _bitten _him. Holy crap.

"What the hell is happening to me?" He slowly backed away from Erica, shaking, staring wide-eyed at Derek. Derek who wasn't moving, his neck covered in blood, the red liquid dripping onto the floor. Stiles could smell the blood, could hear each drop as it hit the ground. He was watching it, counting the drops…

"I-I don't know," Erica whispered, bringing him back to reality. "I just found you biting him. Oh my God, you were biting him. A-Are you a…?"

"No," he replied quickly, too quickly. He was not turning into one of them. He couldn't be turning into one of them. _Then how do you explain Derek,_ a small, evil voice asked. _How do you explain the fact that you've been staring at his blood for the past five minutes, wishing you could drink it?_

"Stop it," he snarled at the voice, noticing Erica eyeing him cautiously, her hands still griping Derek's arms. "I-is he okay?" Stiles asked nodding at the Alpha, taking another step back. A part of him wanted to kill both Derek and Erica, leave their shredded bodies where their pack would find them. He was fighting that part with everything he had and losing terribly.

"I-I don't…" she nodded. "I can hear his heart beating."

"S-so can I," Stiles said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "But that's not what I meant."

Keeping her eyes on Stiles, Erica let go of Derek and crouched down next to him. She gently shook his shoulder, whispering, "Derek? Derek wake up."

"Why isn't he waking up?" Stiles asked taking another step back. He was losing his battle of wills, the urge to kill the two werewolves becoming stronger with each drop of blood Derek lost.

"I-I don't…" Erica trailed off, running a hand through her blonde hair.

"Take him to Deaton," Stiles said quickly, needing them out of his house right that second.

"I-I can't leave you here," she responded, her eyebrows furrowing in worry. "W-we need to get you to Deaton, too."

"Erica," Stiles snarled, noticing her flinch. "If you don't get out of here right now I am going to kill you. Don't you understand that?"

"W-what?"

"I can't fight…" the bloodlust was creeping up on him again, and he was helpless to stop it. Erica had to get Derek out of there right now otherwise they were dead.

"Stiles," Erica whispered, her brown eyes shining.

"Damn it," he snapped moving towards them, but he stopped. He couldn't kill the two werewolves; they were his friends (no matter how hard Derek tried to deny it), and he wouldn't be able to live if he was the reason they were gone. So, he changed course at the last moment, diving out the open window.

**TW**

Erica raced towards the window, but Stiles had already disappeared. He moved so fast, faster than a human should be able to move. What had happened to him? He didn't smell right, he had been drinking from Derek's neck; actually drinking form his neck. Like a…

"Oh my God," she whispered shaking her head. Someone had turned Stiles, fast talking, big hearted Stiles, into a vampire. What were they supposed to do? Was there a cure? Were they going to have to kill him? She had a feeling Derek would know, but she couldn't exactly ask him.

She turned back to Derek, who had yet to wake up, and crouched down next to him. He's face was paper white, the dark circles prominent under his eyes, and Erica would be lying if she said she wasn't worried. Shouldn't he be awake by now? What did vampire bites do to werewolves? She should get him to Deaton. Stiles had that right.

But what was she going to do about Stiles? She couldn't let him run around Beacon Hills, potentially killing people. Vampire or not, Stiles would never be able to live with himself. That is, if he was actually Stiles anymore. No, she couldn't think like that; she had to get to Deaton, get Derek taken care of, and find out what she had to do.

She managed to get Derek out of the Stilinski house and to his car without getting stopped. She dug the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and put him in the passenger seat. As she ran around to the drive side, she called Boyd, telling him to have the entire pack meet her at Deaton's office.

She wasn't much of a driver, only having her license for a few months, but Erica managed to drive twenty over the speed limit the entire drive to Deaton's. He was just walking out to his car when she pulled into the parking lot, and tilted his head to the side when he spotted her.

"What's wrong?" he asked moving towards Derek's side, opening the door.

"Stiles attacked him," Erica replied helping the vet get Derek into the vet's office. As Deaton directed Erica to put the Alpha on the table, the boys burst into the examining room from the back door.

"What the hell happened?" Isaac was the first to speak, watching the Alpha with furrowed eyebrows. Erica could sense he and Boyd wanted heads to roll while Scott was calmly trying to piece together what had happened. Erica couldn't have anyone kill Stiles, no matter what he had been turned into, so she quickly recapped what had happened.

"Wait, Stiles is a…" Scott trailed off, his face paling. "How did _that _happen?"

"I don't know," Erica replied softly. She turned to Deaton. "Is there a way we can help him?"

"Perhaps," Deaton answered checking Derek's bite over. "That is, if he hasn't killed anyone yet." He moved away from Derek, heading towards his bag, sitting on the counter. "You need to get him back here, as soon as you possibly can."

"How do we know if he's killed anyone or not?" Scott asked curiously, sounding far more worried and desperate then Erica had ever heard him.

"If he's killed anyone the bloodlust will have taken completely over," Deaton explained pulling a syringe out of his bag. "You need to inject this," he showed the syringe to the wolves, the smell of blood wafting through Erica's nose, "into his neck."

"What is it?" Isaac took the syringe from Deaton, studying it.

"Dead man's blood; it's poison to vampires."

"Will it kill Stiles?" Erica eyed the syringe cautiously.

"No, but it will weaken him, possibly knock him out for several hours," Deaton replied returning to Derek's side.

"And Derek?"

"He'll live," the vet stated taking a bottle of rubbing alcohol out from underneath the table. "He'll just be very weak for a while, most likely in and out of consciousness. Werewolves were meant to guard vampires not feed them."

"I'll go after Stiles," Scott volunteered moving forward to take the syringe from Isaac.

"I'll come with you," Isaac said handing the syringe over.

"Us too," Boyd and Erica said together.

"That's probably for the best," Deaton agreed taping a piece of gauze to Derek's neck. "Newly turned vampires are the strongest by far. It'd most likely take the combined effort of all four of you."

"Keep an eye on him." Isaac nodded at Derek before they filed out, one by one, to go after their friend. It didn't feel right to Erica, and she could feel it in the others too (especially Scott) that they were hunting Stiles. That was definitely one thing she never thought they'd ever have to do; especially to _him _of all people. Not Stiles, anyone but Stiles.

Life sucked sometimes.

**TW**

_ Red hair was splayed across her pillow, pale skin aglow from the half moon pouring in from the window. She smelled strongly of strawberries and honey, something he had never noticed before. She was asleep, breathing deeply, her head turned to the right, her neck exposed._

_ He could see hear her heart slowly beat against her chest; practically taste her blood on his tongue. What he wouldn't give to grab her, sink his teeth into her neck, feel her warm blood roll down his throat. But he shouldn't be too hasty. Since he couldn't bleed the mutt dry, why not bleed the little red headed girl._

_ Slowly, he crossed the room, breathing deeply. He was so hungry, and it'd be poetic, in a way, killing the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world._

_ She moved, her green eyes opening. _"Stiles?"_ she murmured stretching, reaching for her lamp. Before she could turn it on, he knocked it off the nightstand, sending it to the floor. _"Stiles what…?"

"Shh,_" he said quietly, putting a finger to his lips._

_ "_What? What are you…?" _he cut her off by grabbing her hair, dragging her out of bed. She would have screamed, but he wrapped his left hand around her mouth, silencing her._

"No screaming_," he whispered sniffing her neck. She was so warm, smelled so delicious. He ran his tongue down her neck, tasting her salty skin. "_I wonder what you taste like_," he murmured nicking her neck with one fang, her blood slowly leaking into his mouth._

_ She was shaking against him, confused as to what was going on, her heart rate picking up speed. This was what he wanted; he wanted her scared. She gasped when he bit into her neck, her warm blood flooding his throat. He moaned, clamping down on her tighter, feeling her weakly trying to fight him._

_ He would have killed her had he not been pulled off her, thrown across the room. He hit the vanity table, cracking the mirror. It collapsed under him, sending him to the floor. He jumped to his feet, turning to face the four puppies-one the bitch from earlier-their eyes glowing yellow. Behind them the red headed girl stood, holding a hand against her bleeding neck, staring at him with wide, shining green eyes._

_"_Lydia,"_ the bitch said softly. "_Run."_ The red headed girl didn't need telling twice, and she was out the door in an instant. Aw, there went his snack._

"Where's your Alpha?"_ he asked chuckling. The curly haired dog growled, the dark skinned dog barred its teeth, and the bitch snarled. The tan dog, the one at the end, merely stared at him with furrowed eyebrows, sorrow and denial running off it in waves._

"Stiles," _it whispered_.

_ He smirked, diving at the tan dog, knocking it to the ground. He was about to rip its throat out, but the other puppies yanked him off and he hit the wall again, this time slamming into a dresser before hitting the floor. He ambled to his feet, rolling his neck, listening to it pop. He brought his tongue up, licking the blood dripping from his nose, and said, "_Is that really all you've got?"

_ The curly haired and dark skinned dog came at him, but he easily deflected their attacks, sending both backwards. The taller of the two flew out the open window, the blonde shouting its name, while the other one slammed into the back wall, sending a crack down the drywall. _

_ The blonde snarled, diving at him, and it joined its curly haired friend. He turned to the tan dog, eyeing it carefully, and said, "_You're turn."

"Stiles, this isn't you,_" the dog said softly, backing up a step._

"It's the new me_," he replied and dove at the puppy. He knew it was the wrong thing to do when he felt something slam into his neck. He fell away from the dog, yanking the syringe out of his skin. "_What… what did you…?"_ He fell to the floor, his vision blurring. "_I'll kill…"

"I'm sorry, Stiles," _the dog whispered as he blacked out._


	3. Chapter 3

**I debated whether or not to take this story down, but then I thought 'fuck it let's keep writing it.' So, here's a new chapter.**

**Thanks for reading, reviewing, and alerting last chapter, you guys are awesome, and here's hoping you like this chapter.**

**I will make the next one longer, and this story probably won't be very long.**

**So, thanks for reading, I do not own what is not mine, and leave me a comment if you can.**

**See ya!**

* * *

"_There is a house in New Orleans. They call the rising sun."_ Soft music floated into his ears, bringing him back to consciousness. He was very much aware of the throbbing pain in his neck, and the fact that his head pounded in time with the music's beat.

_"And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy. And God I know I'm one."_ The music continued, but he tuned it out as he tried to remember what happened. His memory was fuzzy at best, but if he wasn't mistaken something had definitely attacked him.

'_Well, little brother, that's blatantly obvious,_' he could hear Laura's voice say sarcastically.

_'Yeah, Sourwolf, have anymore brain busters_,' a second voice asked. A very familiar voice; Stiles' voice, and in a flash it all came back to him.

Derek sat up too quickly, a wave of dizziness and nausea rolling through him. Ignoring the tilting room and the stomach churning, he tried to get off the table he was lying on but ended up on the floor. The music clicked off and a silhouette appeared above him, bringing with it the scent of Deaton. "I don't think it's wise for you to be getting up," he replied helping Derek to his feet. "The venom is still working its way through your system."

"Venom?" Oh, right, he had been bitten by a vampire. His stomach jolted when he remembered which vampire had attacked him. How in the hell did that happen?

"The human body doesn't notice the venom" Deaton said calmly, helping Derek over to a chair, "but it weakens werewolves."

"That's a first," Derek muttered drily. He was so used to being able to shake off what most humans could not; this was a new experience for him. He looked around the vet's office and asked, "How did I get here?" The last thing he remembered was cracking his head against Stiles' floor.

"Erica brought you here," Deaton replied leaning against his exam table.

"And where is she?" He looked around again, trying to fight the worry creeping up on him. Had she gone after Stiles on her own? Did he need to get a hold of the rest of the pack to help her? And how in the hell was he going to do that when he could barely see straight?

"She's with the rest of your pack."

"They went after Stiles didn't they?" Derek asked and when Deaton nodded, he tried to get to his feet again. He barely made it a few inches off the chair before another wave of dizziness washed through him. He slowly lowered himself back into the chair, leaning forward.

He knew he should trust them. They knew what they were doing, he had trained them for situations like this, but he also didn't know much about vampires. He knew they could only go out in the sunlight for short periods of time, he knew they could only turn someone by slipping them some vampire blood, and he knew that his pack wasn't going to be able to hurt Stiles no matter what form he was in. They could very well end up slaughtered.

His stomach jolted in fear and worry, and he tried to get up again. The room spun around him and everything went white for a few seconds. When his vision cleared, Deaton was pressing a glass of water into his hands. "Drink it slowly," the older man coaxed, taking a step back.

"I need to go help my pack," Derek stated putting the water on the floor.

"You need to rest," Deaton retorted picking the glass up and forcing it into Derek's hands again. "They can handle this."

"No, they…" the smell of blood cut him off just as the back door flew open. Erica and Scott crossed the threshold first, supporting Stiles between them followed closely by Isaac and Boyd, the latter being propped up by the former.

"What happened?" Derek demanded attempting to get up again, but Deaton easily pushed him back down.

"Drink your water," he said softly before addressing the wolves. "Take him," he nodded to Stiles, "to the freezer."

"What?" Scott asked nearly dropping Stiles in surprise.

"It's the only place with a lock," Deaton replied slowly, "besides, he won't feel the cold."

The two betas nodded and carried Stiles to the back of the vet's office. Deaton then turned to Isaac and Boyd, directing the former to place the latter on the exam table. Once Boyd was sitting, nursing his ribs, Isaac recapped the night as quickly as he could, talking so fast that Derek was painfully reminded of Stiles.

"Are you okay?" Isaac finally asked when he finished his story, looking at a small, red head standing in the doorway. Derek hadn't even noticed Lydia's sudden appearance. She stood, shaking in the entry way, looking white as a ghost as her hand held her slowly bleeding neck, but she still nodded slowly. Derek took pity on her and shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to her. She took it in surprise, but still shrugged it on, and Derek turned his attention back to his betas.

"Are you okay?' Derek asked looking straight at Boyd.

"I'm healing," he said softly, still holding his ribs.

"What about you?" he turned to Isaac.

"We're all fine," Isaac replied slowly."How are you?"

"Stubborn," Deaton responded softly, checking Boyd's ribs over, "but he'll be fine."

"Okay, he's locked up," Scott said as he and Erica reappeared. He didn't sound very happy about locking his best friend up, but it was a precaution they had to take; just in case Stiles tried to kill them. "How long do we have to wait to see if he killed anyone?"

"Not too long," Deaton answered checking Lydia's neck over. "Maybe an hour or two." Scott nodded, looking down at his feet, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Is there a cure?" Derek asked curiously, picking up on the small bout of hope Scott allowed himself to feel. Was there a way to bring Stiles back? The pack's Stiles and not some soulless shell of his former self. Whatever had to be done, Derek would do it, and he was sure the rest of the pack would back him.

"Perhaps," Deaton answered honestly, taping gauze over Lydia's wound. "We just have to make sure Stiles hasn't killed anyone."

"And if he hasn't?" Derek questioned curiously. "What do we do?"

"We find the vampire that turned him and let him kill it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry this is late. Been busy with some other stuff.**

**Anyway, there's probably two or three more chapters, the action picks up again in the next chapter, and thanks for reading.**

**Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favs last chapter, sure hope you guys enjoy this, and leave me a comment if you can.**

**I do not own what is not mine.**

* * *

His head was pounding, a steady beat, right behind his eyes, and he felt sick to his stomach as consciousness slowly returned. He was lying on the floor, a faint humming could be heard in the background, but he ignored it; more focused on the voices he could hear coming from, what he was assuming, down the hall.

"…_gonna be able to find _one_ vampire?"_ Boyd questioned incredulously.

"_He's right, we don't even know which one turned him let alone where it is_," Scott said softly.

"_Isn't there a connection?"_ Derek asked and Stiles felt a wave of relief wash through him. He wasn't dead; he hadn't killed him…

Wait, killed him? Why would he…? Events flooded him, old and new images, and his eyes snapped open. He found himself on the floor of the… freezer, really? They put him in the freezer? Was that some kind of joke? He was _not_ laughing. But, hey, he couldn't feel the cold; he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was going to go with bad just to be on the safe side.

Slowly, he sat up, a wave of dizziness rolling through him, his stomach flip-flopping. He breathed through the nausea, willing himself not to throw up, tuning back into the voices.

"…_kind of like an Alpha?"_ Erica inquired curiously, worriedly.

"_Sort of_," Deaton replied slowly. "_A werewolf has a sense of duty to his Alpha, even if he doesn't take it, whereas a vampire will automatically be a part of his sire's nest. It will be very, very hard for Stiles to resist him or her."_

"_But he can do it, right?"_ Lydia questioned softly, and, again, Stiles felt relief flood him. He hadn't killed her, either. He wasn't doing very well on the friends' front right now. He had bitten Lydia and Derek, hurt Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, but at least Scott was unharmed; maybe. And where the hell was Jackson?

"_Have you guys seen Jackson?"_ Derek asked slowly, and Stiles could have kissed him (if he was into that sort of thing, but he wasn't. He only had eyes for a pretty, strawberry blonde who probably hated him for what he had done to her).

"_We thought you had him doing something for you,"_ Isaac replied quietly. The silence that followed left a hollow pit in Stiles' stomach. _Had_ he done something to Jackson? He was the only thing standing between him and Lydia; that and a lifetime of being in different social circles, but that was a small detail Stiles was willing to overlook if it meant being with Lydia.

"_No, I…_"

The door burst open, cutting Derek off, and Stiles heard an angry voice say, "_Someone destroyed my car!"_

Okay, so_ maybe_ Stiles just wrecked Jackson's car. _Why_ wouldn't he just kill him? Not that he wanted Jackson dead. Yes, he had Lydia, yes he was a colossal jackass sometimes, and yes he had privileges Stiles could only dream of, but he still didn't want him dead. Did he?

"_I got Erica's message, was on my way over here, and found my car's roof smashed in, the hood is dented beyond compare, and I'm not sure if it was a message or whatever the hell we are fighting."_

"_Do you think Stiles…?"_ Scott started slowly, sounding half impressed/half worried.

"_There is _no way_ Stilinski could do that,"_ Jackson stated incredulously, no doubt looking at everyone like they were crazy.

"_Stiles is a vampire,"_ Erica and Lydia said together.

"_Since when?"_ Jackson exclaimed, and Stiles couldn't help it, he snorted.

The werewolves fell silent, and were most likely staring down the hallway at the freezer. It was quiet for a long time, but finally Stiles listened as two pairs of feet started towards the door, and figured it was better he get up off the floor and meet them halfway.

The moment the door opened, he was assaulted by their scents, but he tried to ignore that as he met Derek and Scott's eyes. The former was pale, looking as if one good breeze would knock him over, and it was most likely pure willpower keeping him standing. Stiles could easily take him, kill him right there, even before Scott could do anything. Then he'd go after the floppy haired beta. Two werewolves for the price of one.

He took a step back, his heard racing in his chest, hunger and need battling his control, and softly said, "I don't remember destroying Jackson's car."

**TW**

"I have to what!" Stiles exclaimed after they confirmed it was him and explained everything. He had insisted they keep him in the freezer, said something about _not_ wanting to hurt them, and Derek reluctantly agreed. He knew his pack didn't, but they knew better than to argue with him, so they kept their mouths shut.

"Kill the vampire who turned you," Scott repeated for, what had to be, the fifth time.

"And how the hell do you expect me to do that?" Stiles asked curiously, pacing back and forth. "I have about this much," he held his hand up, his index finger and thumb barely touching, "control right now. The only reason I wanted you to close the door is because I can't smell you from in here, and believe me when I smell anybody all I wanted to do is kill them. And you want to unleash me onto the town? Are you freaking crazy?"

"Look, we get it; it's not an ideal plan…" Scott started softly, looking at Stiles through the tiny, freezer window.

"Understatement," Stiles grumbled continuing to pace back and forth.

"…but it's the only one we have," Derek finished crossing his arms. If it had been up to him, he would have hunted down the vampire himself and killed it. Too bad they had no idea where the damn thing was, and it _had_ to be Stiles who killed it. "Scott and I will be with you…"

"Oh, _that_ makes me feel better," Stiles retorted sarcastically, stopping mid-pace. He ran his hands down his face, taking a deep breath. "What happens if I attack you?" He looked between the two werewolves, a grim look on his face. "Did you two even _think_ about that?"

"You won't," Scott replied softly, meeting Stiles' eyes.

"Don't be so sure about that," Stiles said slowly and his eyes flashed purple for a second. It took all of Derek's willpower not to back away.

The Alpha held his ground, even took a step towards the freezer, and stated, "We'll be fine."

"Reckless and stupid go hand in hand, Der," Stiles murmured crossing his arms. He was quiet for a moment, thinking, but finally nodded and uncrossed his arms. "Fine, but if I attack you…"

"_You _won't," Scott insisted.

"_If_ I attack you," Stiles continued as if Scott hadn't said anything, "I want you two to take me out. C-can you promise…?" the betas and Lydia broke out into protests, even Jackson, so Stiles turned his attention to Derek, met his eyes, and softly said, "Promise me, Derek."

Could Derek promise that? Could he kill Stiles? He had thought about it a few times, but he was never serious about it. The guy could be irritating as hell, could get under Derek's skin and wheedle around, over staying his welcome, until the Alpha had to physically remove him from his presence. He talked incessantly, flailed around like a fish out of water, and otherwise stuck his nose where it didn't belong, but that's what made Stiles _Stiles._ And now he was asking Derek to _just_ kill him.

"Please," Stiles begged softly, cutting the rest of the pack off. "Please Derek. I-I don't want to die, but if it stops me from hurting m-my dad or you guys…" his eyes widened, sparkling in the light shining in through the tiny window. "Please."

"Yes," Derek responded after a beat, nodding, ignoring the aghast looks his pack threw at him. "I'll do it."

"No you won't," Stiles murmured looking down at the floor, no doubt hearing Derek's heart beat, "but thanks for trying." He was quiet for a moment, thinking again, but finally he looked up and softly said, "Let's go hunt a vampire."


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: Some violence ahead.**

**Thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favs last chapter. You guys are awesome.**

**Thanks for reading, drop me a comment if you can, and I do not own these characters.**

**See ya!**

* * *

Stiles figured seeing Deaton arm Scott and Derek with dead man's blood would make him feel slightly better, but it didn't; not one bit. Dead man's blood was only good enough if the two werewolves could inject it into his body. If those syringes broke, or if they were forced to use them on other vampires, Stiles could still easily kill them. It wouldn't take much either.

Not for him and especially not right now; not when he had supernatural strength on his side. Besides, he was starving, a hunger so severe it burned his throat, and it didn't matter to him if the blood was tainted; just as long as it quenched this ungodly thirst.

He shook his head, looking away from Scott's neck, and tuned back into what was going on. Derek was sending the rest of the betas out patrolling, giving them the okay to kill any and all vampires. They nodded, taking in Stiles' new scent, each one wrinkling their noses when they sniffed him.

"Hey, you four don't smell any better," he snapped waving his hand in front of his face. They each had a unique scent, but it was mostly masked by the smell of dog. It burned his nose and he turned away from them, his eyes settling on Lydia. He swallowed, quickly turning away from her, looking at the back wall, his hunger flaring. She was the ultimate prize, the food source he needed, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do to get her.

His stomach clenched, and his vision went red for a moment, but he forced himself to stay in control, taking a deep breath. He needed to get as far from her as soon as possible. It was becoming increasingly harder to stay human.

"Stiles," Scott said softly, lightly touching his arm, "are you okay?"

"No," he answered truthfully, his breathing ragged, his vision still red.

Eyeing him worriedly, Derek told the betas to go, and they dispersed each one giving Stiles one, final look before heading out the back. Once they were gone, Derek turned to Deaton and Lydia and suggested, "Maybe you two should head out, too."

"But…" Lydia began to protest, but Derek nodded at Stiles and she trailed off.

"I think perhaps you're right," Deaton stated slowly, eyes resting on Stiles. "I think I'll give Miss Martin a ride home." He started towards the door, expecting Lydia to follow him, but she was still looking at Stiles.

"Stiles, I…"

"I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, keeping his back to her. "Just go."

"But…"

"Go," he snapped, turning to face her, his eyes flashing purple. She reeled back, her green eyes widening, and slowly nodded, moving across the room towards Deaton.

"Good luck, boys," the vet said quietly before he and Lydia walked outside.

Stiles waited until they were really gone before collapsing against the exam table, breathing deeply, trying very hard to ignore Derek and Scott's scent. His closed his eyes, willing the redness away but still feeling his control slipping away.

He felt a pair of hands on his shoulders, the dog smell stronger, and a familiar voice whispered, "Find an anchor, keep your control."

"I'm not a werewolf," Stiles replied raggedly, trying to ignore his burning hunger. He could easily kill the werewolf, drain it, and it would be powerless to stop him. Stiles shook his head, pushing away the prospect of killing anyone, trying not to think how excited he got at the mere thought.

"It'll work," Derek reassured him, still standing directly behind him, and Stiles really wished he'd move away. He needed Derek to move away. If he didn't move right that second, Stiles was going to snap and kill him. And the thought of killing anybody he cared about was just not in the cards. Derek may be a monster (pun intended) pain in the ass and a disrespectful jerk sometimes, but he was generally a good guy with a checkered past and Stiles didn't want to see him dead. Hell, Stiles didn't want to be the reason he died.

"Please get away from me," Stiles whispered, feeling two rows of fangs elongating from his gums.

"Find an anchor," Derek murmured again, ignoring the younger boy's words, his nails digging into Stiles' shoulders. "Take back control."

"Derek, if you don't get away from me…" Stiles' voice trailed off, hissing when he felt claws stab into his flesh, and his vision went completely red.

"Get off me, Mutt_," he hissed_.

"Fight it, Stiles,"_ the mutt said, still standing directly behind him, still digging its claws into his shoulder. _"Take back control."

"Get off me," _he repeated gnashing his teeth at the mutt's hand._

"Fight it," _it snarled tightening its hold._

"I look forward to your screams when I kill you,"_ he murmured and slammed the back of his head into the mutt's mouth. In surprise, it let him go, and he jumped up onto the exam table, turning to face the two dogs. Blood dribbled from the taller one's lip and down his chin, but the wound was already healing. "_Oh, that's no fun."

"Fight it," _the taller mutt demanded as it and its puppy surrounded him. _

"Come on, Stiles, fight this,"_ the puppy appealed, its voice quiet, its eyes sad._

"I think I'll kill you first,"_ he stated slowly, looking down at the puppy, before shifting his attention to the taller dog. "_What do you think, Alpha?"_ He smirked at the Alpha, its eyes flashing red. "_What? He's _just_ a beta."

_ "_Fight this," _the alpha growled, half shifted, waiting for him to attack. "_You can fight this."

"You're assuming I _want_ to fight this," _he said slowly, flashing his teeth. "_I'm actually enjoying this feeling. It's freeing, liberating, to know that I could kill either one of you at a moment's notice, and there's nothing you can do about it." _He smirked at the Alpha again and drawled, "_Like this." _He threw himself at the taller mutt, knocking it to the floor. He felt a pair of claws slice into his side, but he ignored the pain as he straddled the werewolf. With a wide grin, he punched his fist into the wolf's chest, breaking the skin through his t-shirt, causing the wolf to cry out._

_ "_Let's see what makes you tick,"_ he murmured digging around inside the wolf. "_Oh, look," _he said softly, his fingers brushing against the mutt's still beating heart, "_you _do_ have a heart after all."

"Stiles," _he heard the puppy call and turned to see it holding up a photo. He stared at the picture, snorting, shaking his head, but then he really looked at it. It was of a younger him and the puppy, with a woman standing behind them, her arms around them._

_ She had dark hair, pulled back in a messy ponytail, and caramel colored eyes. Her smiled brightened up her pale face, and he appeared to resemble her quite a lot. Almost as if she were his…_

_ "_Mom," he whispered and just like that the red cleared and he was in control again. He wrenched himself off of Derek, quickly crossing the room, looking down at his bloody, shaky hand. "I am so, so, so, so, sorry," he rambled stumbling across the room to the sink. He needed to get the blood off his hands before he started licking it.

Scott didn't answer, and when Stiles glanced over his shoulder he noticed his friend trying to help Derek sit up. The Alpha was covered in blood, a hand sized hole in his t-shirt, but he was healing and that was all that mattered.

"I think…" Derek started, running a hand across his chest, no doubt trying to catch his breath, "…you found your anchor."


	6. Chapter 6

**This is a quickie. Final battle up next.**

**Thanks for the reviews and alerts last chapter, sorry this took so long, and leave me a comment if you can.**

**They still aren't mine :)**

* * *

"Anything yet?"

"No, and before you ask-in the next thirty seconds-no again; stop rushing me."

"Now you know how we feel."

"Ha ha," Stiles retorted sarcastically, playfully pushing Derek's shoulder, accidentally sending the older werewolf to the ground. His eyes widened and he slowly backed away from the dark-haired guy. "I am so sorry."

"It's fine," Derek growled, signifying that it obviously was not fine, and clambered to his feet, waving off Scott when he tried to help. He staggered for a moment, again waving off Scott's help, but managed to stay standing. He then stalked ahead of the two teens, and if Stiles didn't know any better he'd probably say Derek was sulking. Scott and Stiles avoided each other's gazes, trying very hard not to laugh, and managed to resist the urge, hurrying to catch up to Derek.

"We're going to fix this," Scott said quietly, glancing over at Stiles.

"I know," the talkative teen quietly lied, flashing his best friend a weak smile. He knew his friend and Derek would try everything in their power to help him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were going to fail. He hated the feeling, but it was like a persistent itch in the back of his head. It also didn't help that he kept picturing the two werewolves disemboweled at his feet. He shuddered, trying and failing to push the images away.

It was a quiet few moments, but suddenly, for a split second, Stiles' body went numb. Before he could freak out, or tell Derek and Scott, a wave of cold washed through him and his feet immediately began pulling him towards the left. He wanted to fight it, but he had a feeling he couldn't, so he didn't even try. Instead, he allowed whatever force driving him to take the reins for a while. Besides, he remembered Deaton mentioning how Stiles would be drawn to his 'alpha.' This could be their best shot at finding him or her.

Stiles was vaguely aware of Scott calling out to Derek and soon, both werewolves were following him. A part of Stiles knew that having the two follow him was a bad idea, but the strange force shoved that part away and he immediately let it go.

For a while, the threesome walked in silence, the two werewolves following the fledgling vampire, and eventually they came to a stop at the night club the teens had been at earlier that night.

"What are we doing here?" Scott asked, his words barely audible. Stiles ignored him, continuing towards the building. He heard Derek call his name, but again he neglected to answer, already heading towards the back. He heard the two werewolves exchange a quick look before quickly following him.

**TW**

Derek watched as Stiles easily broke the latch on the back door, opening it. He walked inside, not giving him or Scott a backwards glance. It was creepy, and Derek knew, deep down, this was probably a trap, but he also knew Scott wasn't going to abandon Stiles. And, he wasn't going to abandon either teen. So, he glanced at Scott for a brief second before following Stiles.

The interior was pitch-black, no doubt the club closed a while ago, and Derek's nose crinkled at the smell of decay in the air. He let his eyes scan the area, looking for any immediate threat, and froze when several black shapes emerged out of nowhere.

"You brought us pets," a high-pitched, feminine voice stated just as the lights snapped on, nearly blinding Derek. "That was thoughtful of you."

When Derek's eyes adjusted to the sudden light, they settled on a tiny, pale, blonde standing in front of three other vampires. She was looking directly at Stiles, a smirk on her face. "Remember me?"

"You're the…"

"Yes, I'm the one you ran into earlier," she replied nodding. "Do you like my gift?"

"Y-you did this to me? Why?"

"Why not?" The air suddenly turned cold, and Derek noticed Stiles tense. "Stiles, be a dear, and kill them." To Derek and Scott's surprise, Stiles suddenly turned on them, his fangs gnashing, his eyes flashing purple, and jumped at them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! So, there's ONE more chapter left. So, enjoy this one and I'll see y'all in the next.**

**Thanks to those who reviewed, alerted, and favorited last chapter.**

**The boys, alas, are not mine.**

**See ya!**

* * *

Derek met Stiles head on, knocking him to the floor. He was aware of a crash, a pain-filled howl, and an array of snarls and hisses before Stiles kicked him off, sailing through the air, hitting the wall with a sickening crunch. He hit a table, breaking it on impact, landing on the floor. His ears were ringing, his ribs and back were killing him, but he staggered to his feet, shaking off the pain.

He caught sight of his entire pack, unsure whether to be pissed or glad that they disobeyed his orders. Figuring it was best to deal with them later, he turned to face Stiles. It wasn't lost on him that this would be the third time he had to face the bloodlust side of the talkative teen that night.

The teen stalked towards him, cracking his neck, his purple eyes locked on Derek's green ones. Stiles smirked, gnashed his fangs, and threw himself at the werewolf. Any other opponent, Derek would have went on the offensive, bringing out his claws and canines, doing whatever was necessary to destroy his adversary. But this was Stiles, the unofficial 'pack mom,' the guy who brought donuts to every pack meeting, the one who offered to order pizza on the nights when the meetings went over. Derek couldn't hurt the teen even if he really wanted to, so the Alpha went on the defensive, wrapping one hand around Stiles' neck, halting him in midair.

"Fight this," he snarled at the teen. "Remember your anchor."

With a snarl, Stiles managed to swing his legs up, slamming his feet into Derek's chest. In surprise, Derek dropped Stiles, staggering back several steps, trying to catch his breath. He watched as the teen landed in a crouch, smirking up at the werewolf. "Where's your cub and his picture now, Alpha?"

He lashed out at Derek, the Alpha barely avoiding a fist to the face. He dodged two more hits, managing to get in a few defensive maneuvers, before Stiles' foot connected with his side. For a split second, it felt as if every rib on Derek's right side shattered. He then hit the ground, coughing heavily, his vision inking out for several seconds.

Feeling a heavy pressure on his chest and something grinding into his side, his eyes snapped open. Stiles' smirking face swam in and out of focus, the teen's foot grinding into Derek's side again. He leaned forward, lips almost touching the Alpha's ear, and whispered, "Tell your family 'hi' from me."

For the second time that night, Derek felt a fist burrow itself into his body. He cried out, very much aware of Stiles digging around his organs, no doubt looking for the best one to end the Alpha's existence. Derek could not allow this to happen, and it wasn't about him dying either. He had accepted, a long time ago, that he was going to die young and he was going to die bloody. It was rare for a werewolf, especially one as enemy prone as himself, to live to a ripe old age. It wasn't in the cards for him, and that was fine.

But he couldn't let _Stiles_ kill him. It'd be killing the last, human part of the teen, forever entrapping him into a monster; a visage Derek never, ever wanted to see the teen take. It wasn't in the cards; Stiles Stilinski was not killing Derek Hale that night.

So, with a heavy heart, and more regret and guilt than Derek thought was possible, he brought his claws forth and swung down, slicing them across the boy's chest. The wounds were deep, spilling blood down his chest in rivulets and cause the teen to reel back in surprise.

Derek slowly, painfully sat up, very much aware of his own blood pouring from his body. His wolf tried to heal him, but he realized he'd already used a big chunk of his healing power already that night. A part of him recalled a while ago, while at the train depot, telling Scott that eventually they'd become way too hurt to heal themselves. He may have just reached his limit.

Vision swimming in and out of focus, eyelids fighting to stay open, Derek's trembling fingers reached into his back pocket, pulling out the photo Scott had given him. He nearly dropped it, but he wrapped his fingers around the fragile picture, holding it up for Stiles to see.

"R-remember h-her, Stiles," he stammered meeting the teen's eyes. "J-just fight this f-for her." As he fell to his side, Derek noticed uncertainty flicker across Stiles' face. "R-remember your anchor, S-Stilinski." Everything gradually went dark, the pain slowly ebbed away, and the last thing Derek saw before passing out was Stiles eyes turning brown.

**TW**

Stiles hissed, very much aware of the pain radiating from his chest. He looked down, eyes widening at the deep scratches running across his torso. It took him a moment to remember what happened, his brown eyes widening slightly as they slowly moved over to Derek's prone form.

"Holy shit," Stiles murmured rushing forward, dropping to his knees next to the wolf. He was paper white, lying in a pool of his own blood, his chest heaving with each shallow breath. Stiles lightly tapped the older man's face, trying to staunch his panic. "Derek. Derek, wake up." Lowering his head, taking the photo from Derek's hand, Stiles silently begged the Alpha to live.

"Aw, did the puppy have an accident," a high-pitched, mocking voice said above Stiles. His head jerked up, brown eyes meeting purple, and the tiny blonde from earlier, at the club, smirked down at him.

"This is all your fault," he snapped jumping to his feet, the photo bending at his hands fisted at his side. He moved forward, intending to attack her, but she held up a hand, halting him mid-step.

"I gave you a gift," she hissed slowly walking towards him, her pale face twisting with malice. "And this is how you repay me."

"I never asked for this," Stiles snarled, fighting the hold on him. "You ruined my life."

"I made your life better. You're powerful now, just like your friends, maybe even more so. You can have whatever you want."

"I don't want this. I've never wanted this. It's not a gift it's a curse." With more will than he thought possible, Stiles broke free of the hold on him, meeting the vampire's eyes defiantly. "And now I'm getting my life back."

With a hiss, the blonde sprung at him, knocking the teen to the floor. She wrapped her hands around his throat, slamming his head into the concrete. Okay, so he definitely hadn't really thought this through, and this is what happened when he didn't pay attention at the pack meetings. This would be so much easier if he could _just_ let his bloodlust take over whilst still in control.

He felt the picture, still clutched in his hand, and an idea struck. Maybe it was possible, if he focused hard enough. He started thinking about his mother, allowing every memory he had of her to consume him, jolting in pain when his head connected with the floor again.

_That's right, Stiles, ignore the vampire trying to brain you, and _just_ think about Mom,_ he thought to himself, starting to get a bit dizzy as his head pounded against the floor a third time. He just had to think of his mom; her hair smelling like Strawberries, her voice when she tried singing, her cooking when she wanted to experiment; Mom, Mom, Mom.

_ His vision went red, but he stayed Stiles. It was freaky, but he didn't have much time to dwell on it. As the blonde went to slam his head a fourth time, Stiles reached up and slammed his hand into her throat. She might not need to breathe anymore, but the action did take her by surprise and her grip loosened on him. With more skill than he thought possible, he brought his feet up and slammed into the blonde's chest, knocking her off him.  
_

_ He jumped to his feet, slowly backing away from the blonde as she stalked towards him. He backed up one, more step, before she dove at him. He took her head on, knocking her to the ground. Between the two, as they rolled around, there were a lot of hisses and snarls. Both took a few hits to the face, fangs sliced into Stiles' body, nails dug into his side. It was the most vicious fight he had ever been in (and Scott was a biter when they were little), and __both found themselves__ covered in blood._

_ Both managed to get the upper hand several times, but finally Stiles was leaning over the vampire. She smirked up at him and said, "_Can you really kill me? I am your Alpha, I own you."

_He hesitated, a little voice trying to convince him to let her go, and he very nearly did it, but his mother's face burst into his mind, knocking the voice away, and Stiles used his fangs to rip the vampire's throat out. _

Vision slowly clearing, spitting the blood on the floor, he sprang to his feet. He did it! He killed the vampire that turned him. So, why wasn't anything happening yet? Panic settled in his stomach and he wondered if maybe he was stuck this way. Forever a vampire; forever stuck with this bloodlust he could barely control. He didn't want to be a monster.

Pain suddenly radiated from his stomach, causing Stiles to cry out. He fell to his knees, clutching his torso, breathing heavily. He immediately began coughing again, black gunk immediately spewing from his mouth. He felt as if he was dying, and maybe he was dying. Was this what dying felt like? Well, it sucked.

He fell to his side, his vision slowly turning fuzzy, very much aware of footsteps approaching him. He heard someone call his name, felt hands on his shoulders. Someone was shaking him, his stomach not liking that, and more of that black gunk spilled all over the floor.

_Somebody kill me please,_ was the last thing he thought before he passed out.


	8. Epilogue

**This is it folks. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted, or favorited. And doubly thanks to those who stuck with this until the end.**

**Thanks for reading, remember any character associated with Teen Wolf is not mine, and I'll catch ya in the next story.**

**Leave me a comment if you can**

* * *

After two days of hiding out in his house, Stiles finally decided to brave the world. His father, who didn't have a clue what had happened with the vampires (which surprised Stiles to no end) had thought he and Scott had had a fight, and the talkative teen continued to let his father think that; it sure beat explaining how he had been a vampire and cured himself by destroying the one that turned him. But he had school, had obligations, and his father wouldn't let him call in sick for 'being too scared to face his friends.' Sometimes his father was such a bummer.

So, Stiles sat in his jeep, looking up at Beacon Hills High. He had no idea how any of the werewolves were doing. The last he had seen them, had been at Deaton's office after he woke up. They had tried to talk to him, and he would have been inclined to answer, until his eyes settled on Derek.

The guy looked as if he had gone through hell and back, and Stiles knew he had done that to him. With that knowledge eating away at his gut, he had sprinted out of the vet's office and all the way home. Coward's way out, sure, but it sure beat facing a horde of angry werewolves.

He heard a knock on his window, causing him to jump, and glanced over to see Lydia standing outside, her expression hard to read. She gestured for him to get out of the vehicle, and he cautiously did, eyeing her warily.

"Lyd, I…" she threw her arms around his neck, cutting off his apology, and whispered, "I'm glad you're okay." He readily returned the hug, feeling himself melt into her embrace.

When she let him go, Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but was ambushed by blonde hair and leather. Erica was soon replaced by Scott and Stiles felt as if he had literally not seen any of them in years. He felt Isaac and Boyd clap him on the back and even Jackson, who was leaning against his jeep, looked slightly glad that he was alive.

"We've been trying to call you all weekend," Lydia scolded, punching his arm. "You can't ignore our phone calls like that, Stiles."

"Yeah," Erica stated, lightly cuffing the back of his head. "We were worried."

"Especially Derek," Jackson muttered crossing his arms.

"He probably would have staked out your house if he had been capable," Isaac murmured looking slightly worried for his Alpha. "It took a while for his wounds to heal."

"But they did, right?" Worry settled in Stiles' stomach as he looked at each one of his friends. "He's going to alright, right?"

"Sore, but yes," Boyd responded nodding.

"Good," Stiles murmured but he knew he still had to apologize.

"You can talk to him later," Erica stated almost as if she read his mind, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. "He'll be in the same place he's been since Friday." She then led him towards the school, the rest of the pack slowly following them.

After school, the day long and drawn out, Stiles sprinted towards his jeep and drove the six blocks to the vet's office. He parked next to Deaton's car, tore out of his vehicle, and ran inside. He skidded to a halt, clutching a stitch in his side, eyes settling on a bored looking Derek.

"H-hey," he gasped awkwardly.

"Stiles," Derek greeted looking up from a thick, dusty book. His face was still slightly pale and he had dark circles under his eyes, but he looked a lot better than the last time Stiles saw him. "What are you doing here?"

"I just…" Stiles looked around, taking a seat in one of the chairs against the wall. "You know just…" He sucked in a deep breath, fidgeting in his seat, and quickly said, "I'm sorry for nearly killing you, like, seventeen times Friday night."

"It wasn't your fault," Derek commented after a long pause. "You had no control over what happened."

"Yeah, but I still could have _killed_ you and then I would have been, you know…" he held his hands up, bending them like claws, and made a hissing sound. "And I guess…" he trailed off again, licking his lips. "I guess I should also thank you. I mean, you helped me control the bloodlust with that anchor stuff."

"I was just doing my job," Derek murmured glancing down at his book. "I couldn't let you kill anyone."

"Well," Stiles cleared his throat, "I just wanted to say thank you and apologize."

"Don't mention it," Derek replied running a hand through his hair.

"So," the teen started, mimicking the werewolf's action, "should we hug or something?"

"Let's not," the Alpha responded, his nose wrinkling at the idea.

"Noted."

**The End…**


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